Cement Poem 7

I am swaggering silently through my own minutia
I am the salt and vinegar queen, the cold chip king
I am the Columbus of the morning madras lands
I am last night's fry-up clinging to the brain pan.

I am the preference of all friendships to fly apart
I am the rattle of a cola can's empty low-cal soul
I am the lonely hangman's ropeless scaffolding
I am tearing up the plan in favour of the guess.

I am putting love on the bonfire one last time
I am watching it throw me out stretched arms
I am searching quietly through their ashes
I am a garbled message in a broken bottle.

I am the object of your disaffection, the
softening erection, the blood withdrawing
back to the heart, the alibi of liquid opium,
the final stopping beat, the upstart angelic.


jgh©2008